


and they ask me to lend them a hand/i put it out but then they turn my hand down

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, canon typical loneliness, spoilers up to 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 12:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: character study.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	and they ask me to lend them a hand/i put it out but then they turn my hand down

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in about an hour and a half, didn't proofread, and also use too many em-dashes. this was kind of a vent.

Whittling himself away, Martin supposed, was a form of self harm.

It’s not like he had much other use. And it’s always been this way— be small and unobtrusive, or as small and unobtrusive as he could be, with his size. Helping other people was just the right thing to do, he told himself. Drop out of school to help your mother (never mind she doesn’t  _ want _ it, doesn’t care to see you, or see your  _ face _ ), dote over your boss who considers you a nuisance.

You know.

What anyone would do.

The important thing was— well, it wasn’t him, and that’s the  _ thing _ , isn't it? The important thing was never  _ him _ , it was always something else, some _ one _ else, and he just… well, just wanted to help the people more important than him. 

And it’s funny, isn’t it, in a sad sort of way, that Martin’s form of self harm would be the most helpful one, the least destructive one. He was never sharp and hard, never made up of all angles (like Tim was, by the end), never wanted to mire others in his own misery. Nothing of dry anger and miserable edges, just… soft. Soft and smooth, any roughness worn away from constant overworking. 

He always had his reasons. Help your mother, like a good son. Protect Jon, because what else do you care about in these archives? Keep stringing yourself along, because you can still be useful, can still help. There’s no other point, really. It’s always other people.

It was lonely, maybe, never caring about himself, but it wasn’t Lonely lonely until Peter. 

Peter was a reason when he ran out of reasons.

Peter gave him a chance to be a martyr when he had no one to martyr himself for. 

And Peter, to the end, was just another person who underestimated him.

Martin didn’t blame him, really. Didn’t blame Elias for underestimating him either, back when it mattered. He sort of cultivated it— tuck yourself away, don’t be obtrusive, and nobody will suspect you until they’re already in your web.

The Lonely was nothing new, when he was fully submerged in it. In fact, it was familiar, achingly so— the heart-heavy grey of touch starvation and isolation. It was his internal turned external, the nothingness he felt surrounding him for as far as he could see. To sink into and out of it became easy fast: just will yourself away, and there you aren’t. Hide from whoever might come looking, not that anyone cared enough  _ to _ come looking. Keep at it for long enough until Peter believes you’re fully on his side, until you’re not. It was pleasant, in a way; like the little moments of silence between noises, stretched to eternity. 

He hadn’t expected Jon to come for him.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected anyone to care enough about him for that.

But— well, here he was, and here Jon was.

Standing in front of him on this endless beach.

The weight of Jon’s gaze, his Sight, fully on Martin.

“What do you see?” he asks, and the white noise begins to fade. Under the scrutiny of the Watcher, Martin feels the Loneliness ebbing away.

“I see you.”

Jon’s hands are hovering over Martin’s, and Martin reaches out to cup Jon’s face. With the touch of the Lonely disappearing, the full force of- of everything, really, hits him, all at once, no longer drowned out by static and apathy. 

“I see you, Jon.”

Jon pulls Martin into a hug, holding on tight, as if he’d lose Martin if he let go.

“I was on my own…”

And the  _ touch _ , the human contact after so long— touch that isn’t tinged with pain, touch that’s warm and  _ caring _ .

“…I was all on my own.”


End file.
